Traveling Soldier
by Ice Cube1
Summary: Emma was fifteen, working in a diner while World War II raged an ocean away from her small town. When Killian Jones, newly enlisted sailor in the Navy, slides into a booth, neither know how deeply he's going to burrow into her heart. But war is a dangerous game and not everyone can come home.


**_Co-authored with NothingImpossible. Who rocks and should write all the time!_**

* * *

 _This was a prompt from a-city-dove, who requested "CS + traveling". Unfortunately for her, we'd already seen the cshiatuschallenge daily_ _prompt_ _of "World War II", and the only logical step was to write something based off the song "Traveling Soldier" by Dixie Chicks_ _._

 _Sorry?_

* * *

Emma cleared the dishes off a table, balancing them as carefully as she could manage. Walking quickly, she dropped them into the sink in the kitchen and wiped her hands on her almost-white apron. Glancing in the mirror on the kitchen wall, she hastily fixed the bow that held back her long yellow hair.

She grabbed the damp rag that she'd left in a heap and darted back out to the diner. In a few minutes, the tables were gleaming brightly, and she allowed herself a small amount of pride. The job at the diner was a lifesaver, probably literally, as she felt at home here in a way she'd never felt in any of the foster homes she'd lived in. Granny had offered her the position after she found Emma crying in the diner's bathroom a few months back, after yet another day of being picked on at school and the group home. Granny offered her a shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, and an after-hours milkshake that was still part of their weekly tradition, and Emma had never been so comfortable.

The bell over the door rang, and she looked up. A young soldier stood in the doorway, full duffel bag over one shoulder, looking fresh and pressed in his tailored uniform - and entirely uncomfortable in it. He couldn't have been much more than a couple of years older than her, he barely seemed old enough to be wearing such clothes.

She flashed him a smile and nodded to a booth on the side.

"Make yourself comfortable," Emma said shyly. "I'll be with you in a minute." He nodded and propped the duffel against the booth as he slipped onto the bench, sliding all the way to the window. She picked up a menu and a basket of Granny's famous chips from behind the counter and walked over to his table, placing both in front of him.

He didn't look up, his gaze lost somewhere past the covered bus stop that stood outside the diner at the edge of the street.

Emma coughed softly and he started, twisting quickly to look up at her. She smiled again. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, or juice?"

"Coffee, please," he said quietly, his voice lightly accented from somewhere far away. She was struck once more by how _young_ he seemed, far too young to be going off to war. "Black, no sugar."

"I'll be back soon," she nodded and nudged the menu a bit closer to him. He touched the hard paper cover but made no move to open it as she went back to the counter and set out a mug. She watched him as she poured, his fingers drifted lightly over the menu cover as if tracing the letters on it, but his thoughts seemed much further away.

Fresh coffee in her hand, she walked carefully back to his table, the only one occupied at the moment, and placed the steaming mug in front of him.

"Did you want to order anything?" she asked as she pulled out her small notepad and pencil.

"No," his whispered sadly, as he brought both hands around the cup and held it between his palms. He looked down, watching the dark coffee as if mesmerised by it, lost in thought.

Emma reached out a hand and touched his arm gently. He flicked his gaze to her hand, but didn't look up.

"Hey," she said softly. "You all right?"

A moment passed, and he shook his head slowly.

"Want to talk about it?" she offered hopefully. What she could give to this soldier couldn't be much, but she was hardly the one to underestimate the value of having someone to talk to.

He finally looked up at her, his blue eyes clear against the dark bangs that fell over his forehead.

"Would you mind?" he asked, his voice just barely above a whisper. She smiled softly and slid into the booth across from him.

They sat in silence for a moment, his eyes fixed once again on the warm drink in his hands, and she took the time to watch him. He had dark shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn't been sleeping lately. Understandable, she thought, for a man about to be shipped off to the army.

 _Navy_ , she corrected quickly, taking in the details of his uniform up close. He still looked so young, but the air around him felt heavy with the burden he seemed to be carrying.

"I'm Emma," she said, deciding to break the silence herself. He looked up at her and smiled briefly - gratefully - dimples gracing his cheeks for just a moment.

"Killian," he said, his tongue rolling the l's smoothly. "Killian Jones."

She grinned. "Pleasure to meet you, Killian Jones."

"All mine," he said. He glanced quickly out the window and scratched absently behind his ear.

She wanted to ask what was wrong, but he didn't seem to want to share, or couldn't find the words. He opened his mouth twice as if to speak, but closed it again, unable to meet her eyes.

"You're shipping out today?" she asked.

He swallowed, hard, his gaze drifting back to the untouched coffee in front of him. "Aye," he rasped softly, his hand twisting the cup back and forth.

He looked up at her just then, an intensity in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Can we go somewhere else?" Killian asked, then blushed. "I mean, if you have to work, I could just …" He swallowed again, ducking his gaze away, but only for a moment, his eyes softer when he met hers once more. "I don't really have anyone else to talk to, and I thought…"

"We could go down to the pier," she said gently. "It's only a few minutes walk from here. You can leave your bag, if you want."

He nodded. "Thank you."

She ran to the kitchen and hung her apron on her hook, yelling to Granny that she'd be back soon before rushing out front to meet Killian. They left the diner together and walked to the pier in silence. His uniform rustled as he moved, the creases so crisp they sounded as if they were cracking with each step he took.

They went to the end of the pier and she sat down, he beside her, their legs dangling just over the water. They didn't speak for a few minutes more as she watched the waves rippling across the surface, the splashing of water against the wooden pier never failing to relax her.

"I joined two days ago," he said quietly, his voice just above the sound of the ocean. "It was my birthday, I'd just turned eighteen. I've no parents, not anymore, and my only brother was waiting for me in the Pacific." She glanced at him, but he didn't seem finished so she waited for whenever he'd be ready.

"That afternoon, I got a telegram from the Navy," he continued. His words gained strength as he spoke, but the hint of melancholy she heard before only grew as well. "I was elated, certain it had to do with my enlistment. Instead, it was about my brother. He was-" He broke off, and she could see the surge of emotion cross his face as he struggled for control. "He was killed in action."

Emma felt her heart twisting in sympathy for him, this lost boy who suddenly found himself so much more alone. She'd never had a brother, no family related by blood, but she knew what it was like to lose someone close, and she could only imagine Killian's pain at suddenly being torn from the only family he had left.

"I'm so sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly.

He gave her a sad smile as he slipped his hand into hers, holding her fingers tight. "Me too."

"What was his name? Your brother?"

"Liam."

"A nice name," she said. "Strong."

He looked down at their joined hands and squeezed gently. "Aye. I only wish I could be half as strong as he was, but I'm so scared to go over there, more than ever before."

She squeezed his hand back, just as gently, a fierceness in her gaze as she said, "But you're going anyway. That's far braver than other men would be."

He nodded silently, and looked away, out to the ocean. She slid a little closer to him, his thin body warm against the cold breeze coming off the water.

"You know," she said, trying to keep her tone light, "Granny makes a fantastic lasagna. I could probably get you a piece, on the house."

Killian laughed, he _laughed_ , and it sounded so happy that she wanted nothing more than to hear it again. He turned to her, a real smile on his face, his blue eyes twinkling in the slowly fading sunlight.

"I'd like that," he said. "But... can we stay here for a while longer?"

"Of course."

They sat on the pier as the sun went down behind them, talking about nothing and everything, just passing the time. She got him to laugh twice more, his dimples deepening each time, and it suited him, lending his face a youthfulness he so deserved instead of the weight of adulthood that had been thrust upon him far too soon. She pointed out the boat she once went fishing on, he showed her the rocky outcropping where he'd first learned to swim. She commented on his uniform and how smart he looked in it, he told her how much he liked the bow in her hair, how it complimented her deep green eyes.

"Shall we go back?" she said softly, the light all but gone from the evening sky.

He smiled and nodded, and they stood and headed back toward town.

"Do you think…" Killian started, but quickly trailed off, chewing his lip nervously.

"Do I think what?" she asked, her hand still holding his as they walked.

He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes burning with the fiery intensity of before. "Would you mind if I wrote to you, while I'm over there?" he asked. "I have no one else and-"

"I'd love it if you would." She smiled, and so did he.

They went back to the diner, holding hands all the way.

* * *

The letters came infrequently, every few weeks give or take, but they came. She laughed each time she found one, rushing off to the familiar pier to read it, holding it close as she replayed the words in his softly accented voice that she remembered so clearly.

 _Emma,_

 _I don't have a lot of time to write today. We're being sent out on the first flight tomorrow and I still have a number of things to do before I go. My commanding officer says that what we're doing is important to the war effort, but there are so many names coming back on lists and nothing else. Liam was on one of those lists, once upon a time._

 _I want nothing more than to sit on our pier and watch the sun shine through your hair. I can almost see the way the breeze rifles through it. I am counting down the days until I can come back to see you, lass. Will you meet me at our pier when I do? I have to go now, Robin is calling me to get our things in order. I will write again soon._

 _Until then,  
Killian_

She wrote back each time, sending it to the office responsible for forwarding mail to the sailors. The first time he acknowledged receiving one she nearly wept with joy. She told him news of the town, what the weather was like, and what color bow she had on that day. But mostly, she told him how much she missed him, the only other person besides Granny who'd treated her as more than just an orphan.

 _Emma,_

 _We've been here for a few months now and while it wasn't too bad learning to fit in, I miss you. I barely know you, and I miss you so. I think of you before I go to sleep at night in the hopes that I dream of you, the only comfort I've had since this all began. Your sweet face is a balm in the darkness of the days here._

 _I know we didn't have long to be together, but every time I receive one of your letters, it's like I get to know you a little better. Like a little piece of you is here with me. I hope you never know what it's really like over here, but I'm a selfish man and taking you with me out on every mission keeps me strong. I want to come home to you, court you properly, anything you want. I just want to make you smile, lass. I love your smile. I can't wait to see it reflect in the sun at our pier._

 _Thinking of you always,  
Killian_

She worried about him all the time, wondered where he was, what he was doing. She prayed for his safety while carefully watching the lists of those fallen to ensure his name never appeared among them. His letters continued to arrive and she treasured each one, pouring over the carefully curved lettering he etched into her heart with every word. She knew she was falling in love with him, this soldier who had so fully captured her heart in one day and a dozen letters.

 _Emma,_

 _I want to start by telling you that I won't be able to write you for awhile, so don't be afraid if there is a long gap until my next letter. I can't go into details in case this falls into the wrong hands, but while I don't want you to worry about me, I hope that you'll keep me in your thoughts and prayers._

 _So much has happened here, and I hope you never know of the things I've done. I thank God everyday that you are far away from this - that when I return to you, you will be free of all of the things that haunt me. I'm afraid, Emma. Afraid of what I've seen. Abhorred by what I've done. By what it's made me become. But most of all, I'm afraid of what you'll think. I'm scared you'll think less of me, and I can't stand the thought._

 _I know that we only had that one day together, and Robin says that it wasn't enough time to know, but I think I'm in love with you. No. I don't think, my love. I know. Your pretty smile comforts me when things here are too awful to imagine. When we're caught in a dogfight and there's nothing but the sounds of my friends' cries echoing in my ears, I think of you. I remember every moment of that day on our pier, how you smiled and held my hand. How you took pity on a boy with no one to see him off when you probably had more important things to do. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I plan on staying with you forever, if you'll have me._

 _I love you, Emma. I hope I'll find you waiting for me at our pier when I return._

 _All My Love,  
Killian_

* * *

"Leroy Grump. Archibald Hopper. Killian Jones."

Emma was sure her heart stopped beating. Her feet rooted to the spot for a beat, long enough for the boy behind her to run into her back. Ignoring his curses, Emma bolted out of formation, her piccolo forgotten in the mud of the football field. The announcer was lying - or he had made a mistake. Killian had promised her he was coming back. He wasn't in the infantry, he wasn't languishing away in the trenches like so many of the Army boys who had laid down their lives in France or any of the other fronts. Ever since Killian's first letter, Emma had paid attention to all the news on the war. Killian wasn't _gone_. He was on a ship, somewhere off the coast of Japan. He had told her in his last letter not to worry, hadn't he? That he wouldn't be able to be in contact for a while, but that she shouldn't think anything of it.

The announcer must have been mistaken. Killian's _brother_ was gone, had been since before she had met the younger Jones. But that must be who Mr. Gold had meant to say. L. Jones, - they were close enough to mix up, weren't they?

But, no. _No._ Mr. Gold was only reading the names that were new from the last week. Since last Friday night's game. She hadn't heard any of the names he read out tonight at previous ceremonies. And Liam had been gone for far longer than just a week. He had to have meant Killian.

Which meant… Killian, her Killian, was _dead_.

Emma clutched the upright under the bleachers so tightly that the metal dug into her fingers and froze her skin. She didn't notice. The blood trickling through her veins froze her from the inside out. Her heart squeezed tightly, tearing a cry from her lips before she could bite it back. Pain like she had never felt before ripped through her entire being and would have knocked her flat if she wasn't holding on to the pole already. _This must be what it's like to have a heart attack_ , she thought idly. Tears coursed down her cheeks, burning hot paths over the skin and dripping unchecked off her chin to stain her blouse. She clapped a hand over her mouth as more sobs erupted from her chest, finally bending at the waist before her knees buckled. She fell to the ground, not bothering to break her fall until she was kneeling, huddled against the onslaught of grief.

The mud seeped into her skirt, chilling her further. But the shivers that wracked her slight frame weren't from the cold. Emma pitched further forward, bracing herself on one hand while the other clutched at her chest. Killian was _gone_. And no one except for her was left to mourn him. She didn't have anything of his to hold onto - not even a photograph to remember his face.

All she had were her memories from that one day, memories and the letters written in his neat handwriting, and no one to share them with.

Somewhere, she knew, his enlistment picture would hang on a wall, gathering dust as it faded to yellow in a brown leather frame. The thought gave her no comfort, now.

His charming smile would never light up his face again, his fingers would never card through her long locks, his lightly accented voice would never tickle her ears ever again. Those memories would fade over time, lost to the grasp of time, and then she wouldn't even have those. All she would have left was the cold, dark hole in her heart that he was supposed to fill with his warmth and love and _life_.

 _Mercy_ , she loved him like she had never known love, like she would never know again. She would hold onto that - onto _him_ \- for as long as she lived, with only his letters to keep her warm on cold nights.

Emma rocked back onto her heels, sliding the arm from her chest until it hugged tightly around her stomach to ward off her emotions while the other dragged mud through her hair. Her fingers got tangled in the bow at the back of her head, and she ripped it violently free of the blonde tresses. Emma threw the satin fabric down, taking pleasure in the way the mud seemed to swallow it up. Killian had loved her bows - she had taken care to pull her hair back with one each day he was gone. It was like a little piece of him with her. But he _left_ her. Not for the ocean or for his duty, those reasons she admired - those reasons she _loved_ \- but he went where she couldn't follow. And Emma wasn't sure she could forgive him for that.

Tears continued to drip down her cheeks, and she hiccupped through the sobs that wouldn't cease. She had forced herself to be strong the entire time he'd been deployed. She had waited patiently - or not so patiently as the days dragged on - for his next letter. Waited to discover the next insight into the man she came to love. She had struggled through the days when she wanted him to save her from the taunting voices, from the people around her who told her she would never be enough. She had been enough for _him_ and that was all that mattered, to her.

Now what was she going to do? Who was she going to be strong for? Who was going to buoy her spirits as she trudged through each day? She wanted Killian back. She _needed_ Killian back. Even the thought of him somewhere in the world had been enough. Now he was gone, and she was alone in the world. It was too big, too frightening, a place for _just her_. A lost little girl who had never mattered until he came along.

Emma was proud of what he had accomplished in his short life. She would hold onto that until the day she died. Killian had faced his fears head on, overcoming the loss of his brother and making a concerted effort to be the best sailor he could. She _knew_ all this, and she loved him for it all the more.

But that didn't change the fact that she was furious. She'd never hold him in her arms again. She'd never know the strength of _his_ embrace at he protected her from the world. She would never see him down on one knee. Someday, she would have cried while he proposed, not letting him get the question out before she agreed. And she wanted _those_ tears. Tears of joy that would give her strength as they started on their forever.

Not the tears that she was sobbing out now. These were sapping her stamina as she tried to wrestle her grief under control. She couldn't be found like this - no one would understand. Emma couldn't count on a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic embrace. If someone found her sobbing under the bleachers, they would be far more likely to use it as fodder against her. But Emma needn't have worried.

No one ever came to find her.

* * *

Granny had told her not to get too attached. She had begged Emma not to fall in love with the sailor who might never come back. She had complained that Emma was too young to saddle herself with a man who was fighting half a world away. But Emma hadn't listened. And now, she was wrecked for anyone else. She couldn't do this again. She _wouldn't_ do this again. Killian was _it_ for her, and to move on from him? She didn't have the strength to put him behind her.

His memory wrapped around her was the only thing that kept her going. If she put that away, she'd have nothing - she would _be_ nothing.

The days dragged on interminably. Emma went to school and endured the petty comments about why she was wearing black. She went to the diner, tolerated Granny's sympathetic glances, then went back to the pier and hid away from the world to reread his letters, the only comfort in a sea of heartbreak.

The cheap paper he had been allotted was yellowing quickly, the creases wearing thin and starting to tear. It didn't matter - she had every last line memorized. She knew that she shouldn't bring them down to the ocean at all where the spray could damage them. But she needed the tactile reminder that he had existed somewhere other than her dreams every night. She needed to hold something that had been _his_. Some days she didn't even open them, just closed her eyes as she laid her hand atop the envelopes and recited them under her breath as tears fell silently. She imagined it was Killian reading them to her, sitting behind her while they watched the sunset. He would wrap her in his strong arms, keeping her warm while he whispered words of love in her ear.

Emma left every night long after all traces of the sun had disappeared from the sky, cold and still all alone.

* * *

Another day, another shift survived. Emma sat heavily on the pier, tracing Killian's words to soothe her broken heart.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden planks behind her, some kids looking for a fishing spot most likely. She didn't turn around, just tucked the letters safely into her pocket in case they noticed. She hoped they'd leave her alone, closed her eyes and wished for it, but the footsteps only grew louder as they approached.

"Go away," she whispered, and it felt like the first time she'd spoken in days, her voice harsh and biting against the cold ocean breeze. "Please, just leave me alone."

Silence. The footsteps halted on the pier.

"I'd hoped you felt otherwise, love," a familiar voice said quietly. A voice she thought lost to memory, a voice she'd replayed over and over in her mind as she read the words his hand had written to her, just for her.

She gasped, but didn't turn around, not sure if she was ready to find out it was a dream, or nightmare, come to haunt her waking hours as readily as he haunted her nights. Tears blurred her vision, tears she refused to shed until she knew for sure.

"You're dead," she said to the waves in front of her. "You're supposed to be dead."

She heard a sigh, and then his voice, just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the splashing tide against the wooden pilings below her feet.

"I'd rather be here," he said, "with you."

She spun around and jumped to her feet as fast as she could, leaping into his arms as tears ran steadily down her cheeks. "Easy, love," Killian whispered into her hair, his hand stroking her back as she cried into his shoulder. "I'm right here." Killian, _her_ Killian, was _here_.

It was only then that she noticed the sling that held his left arm bandaged against his chest. She pulled back, alarmed at having possibly hurt him. "Are you all right? What happened? How are you alive? Where were you?" The questions spilled from her mouth without restraint, but all she wanted was to be back in his arms again. She looked away from his arm and met his eyes, the familiar blue warming her against the cool air. He looked older, the year they'd been apart had aged him much faster. His eyes seemed haunted, scarred from whatever horrors he'd seen, but he smiled nonetheless, his dimples deep in his cheeks. Tears of his own ran down his face, past his smile, and it was _him_.

"How?" she whispered as she touched his cheek, the new scar that ran across it. "How are you here?"

He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. "I was shot down, captured. But I found a way out, to come back home. I _needed_ to come back home, to you."

He reached for her again with his good arm, pulling her close once more. She sobbed against his coat, and she could feel his shoulders shaking against her.

"I love you, Killian," she whispered when their tears finally dried.

"I love you too, Emma," he murmured.


End file.
